He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. His name was Peter. "You have betrayed me," said he, in a deep whisper, to his companion; "but you shall reap the reward of your treachery. “Are we interrupting anything?” “No!” Martin jumped slightly. He noted an ebony cane laid close to hand, which suggested she was able to get about.
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